Time Lords Are Never Patient
by Bob the Robot
Summary: The War Doctor has recently regenerated... and instead of the end of a war, now he's waiting for something a little bit different.


Author's Note: My brother and I decided to write a Doctor Who drabble with specific constraints that were required to be in the story. The purpose was to see how our writing styles differed, and to see how they were similar.

Four Contraints:

- Ninth Doctor

- Clara's Echo

- "Time Lords are never patient..."

- A scene where the Doctor recognises a song.

also, we had thirty minutes to write it... so...

Enjoy! And to read my brother's version, search for the penname: "dinobot" -but put spaces between each letter. Sorry, it's crazy inconvenient.

* * *

Time Lords are never patient. Mostly because of their arrogance. Probably also because of their pride. Plus, being Lords over Time itself doesn't really help.

Anyhow. Waiting seems to be something they're not very good at doing.

That is, except for the Doctor... Sometimes. Because after years of battle, and years of death, after making the hardest decision in his entire life, the Doctor finds that waiting is now something he doesn't mind.

It seems that every moment in time is becoming precious. Every second of the life he sees is valuable. And to wait around to discover each day's beauty is enough motivation to develop a little patience over.

Waiting in war is different. There is the next mission. The next calamity. The next casuality. And now there are no battle plans to wait for, no need to wait for encrypted messages. At the end of the Time War, after his most recent regeneration, the Doctor finds himself desiring the slowness that only waiting around can offer him.

Nothing of particular importance, of course.

The Doctor sits down and curiously eyes the pedestrians of London. He pierces his lips in disappointment at what he sees. Blank faces. Busy faces. Distracted faces. They are so oblivious to the world around them. He wonders what it must be like to be in their silly little heads.

A young girl suddenly collapses onto the bench next to him, sighing loudly in a forced guttural tone.

The Doctor glances at her briefly.

The girl eyes him suspiciously before straightening her posture and clearing her throat in nervousness.

"Hello," the Doctor says, giving his friendliest smile.

She furls her brows. "Uh, hi."

"Waiting for the bus, are ya?"

"Yeah..."

"Where're you going?"

She hesitates to answer right away. "The Hospital."

"Oh," he states gravely. "Are you sick?"

"No," she replies slowly, still unsure why he is talking to her. "I work there. I'm a nurse."

He smiles again, but simply nods his head in response, as if her answers are enough to satisfy his curiosity for the moment. She narrows her eyes again, quickly taking a glance at him one last time before pulling out some ear phones.

Even though he can hear the song she is listening to, he thinks it best not to mention anything, seeing as how uncomfortable his initial interaction seemed to make her. So, the Doctor continues to look at the people passing by, the silly grin still on his face. Slowly, however, he finds himself swaying to the sound of her music. And why not? It's a good song.

He looks at her again. "Good song."

She raises one eyebrow in question. Obviously she doesn't hear him, and when he repeats himself, she is forced to remove her ear phones and say, "Excuse me, what?"

"I said," he clears his throat, "That's a good song."

"Oh, you can hear it?"

He points to his ears and flicks the abnormally large earlobes. "I've got good hearing."

This time she chuckles. His ears are quite large. Comically large even.

"Habenara Aria," he mentions casually in approval. "And Bizet is a pretty nice guy once you get to know him."

The girl decides to dismiss that last statement, obviously because of it's ridiculous implication, but laughs anyway. "Okay, so you asked me what I'm doin... What about you?" She says. "Waiting for the bus as well?"

He just shrugs. "No. Just... Just waiting around."

Strange answer. From a strange man. "What's your name?" She inquires curiously.

He looks directly at her this time. The grin fully enveloping his face now. It's been quite a long time since anybody had asked him that. "It's the Doctor."

"No, not what you do. What's your name?"

"That is my name."

"Doctor?"

"Yup."

"But... Doctor who?"

"Isn't that the question," he chuckles mostly to himself. Standing up, he adjusts his leather jacket. "Well. Nice to meet you... uh..."

"My name is Clara," she replies, now fully intrigued by the entire interaction.

"Nice to meet you, Clara."

* * *

Thanks for reading!


End file.
